That year, I was eighteen years old, the age when a person begins to truly see the world clearly. That year, a fire broke out in my hometown. The flames shot up into the sky, engulfing my father and our land. I still remember that the fire seemed like a huge monster that night, opening its bloody mouth and engulfing everything we had. And we could only watch it take away everything in the flames, including our hopes and even the future.
My hometown is located in a small village in the north, with high mountains and far waters, and poor land. However, our ancestors and parents lived not too badly on this land. It was a closed place, where time seemed to stagnate and life remained unchanged. Every tree, every stone, every dog, every old man, and every child in the village seemed to have never changed. Day after day, year after year, it seemed that the whole world was stagnant at a certain moment in the past.
However, all this was destroyed in the fire. The fire seemed to be a punishment from heaven, or a judgment of fate. After the fire, we not only lost our home, but also lost the hope of continuing on this land. My father’s death brought deep pain to my mother and me, and also cut off our connection with our hometown more closely. That winter, the snow fell particularly heavily, and the snowflakes covered the earth, covered my father’s grave, and covered my memories.
In my heart, my hometown has ceased to be my hometown since that moment. Every familiar road, every dilapidated house, and every big tree that was once green in summer no longer belongs to us. They were all swallowed by the fire and turned into silent ashes. Our generation is destined not to inherit these lands, and our next generation may only be able to stand far away in the outside world and miss the land that once belonged to us.
After the fire, the people in the village became more silent. Everyone seemed to have become accustomed to loss, losing their loved ones, losing their homes, and even losing each other’s warmth. The men in the village began to drink, and the women began to keep silent. The children were like a group of helpless souls, wandering in the ruins, looking for the meaning of their existence. There seemed to be no light in everyone’s eyes, and their faces were filled with unspeakable pain and confusion. Even the sky became low and gray.
And I, standing in the ruins, gradually felt that I had long been lost. Those things that once had meaning in my heart have become unimportant. Hometown, relatives, and homeland seem to have become insignificant illusions. I have long been accustomed to life without my father, accustomed to the lonely back of my mother, and accustomed to the night without warmth. In this desolate land, I increasingly feel that I am a rootless pumice, floating on this dead water, unable to find a place to settle.
Sometimes, I would walk alone to the once busy village at night, where there is nothing now, only a ruin devoured by fire. Those who once lived here have now disappeared without a trace. Those days that were once filled with my father’s voice and smile also dissipated in the depths of memory along with the fire. Perhaps, they have already left and will never come back, and I am just a person trapped by this land, still living in the shadow of the past, unable to escape.
On this ruin, I became more and more silent. I no longer spoke, no longer imagined those days in the past, but just mechanically repeated my daily work. Whenever I saw those who had helped us rebuild our homes, my heart was filled with pain and anger. Because I know that our reconstruction is just to keep it all going, not to truly revitalize this land. Our generation has long lost the courage and ability to change, and all we can do is bear and endure silently.
However, in my heart, there is still an irresistible desire, that is, to escape from this land. Although I know that escaping does not mean that everything will change, there will still be loneliness, pain, and even loss after escaping. However, this desire has never disappeared. I want to leave, go to a place without fire, go to a place without desolation, go to a place where I can really be myself. But I don’t know where I’m going, and I don’t know where I can go.
I know that there is no so-called salvation or savior in this world. Each of us is the master of our own destiny, but we often seem so insignificant in front of destiny. In this desolate land, all hopes have been shattered, and only endless darkness and silence remain. We have gone too far, lost in the deep night, and can no longer find the way back. Although the fire has been over for many years, the pain it brought has long been deeply engraved in the hearts of each of us and has become an indelible memory.
Now, standing in this ruin, I finally understand: the meaning of life is not how much you have, but whether you can find a ray of hope and a hope of your own in these losses and pains.